Scraping By, Chapter 7: Cab Confessions
Two chapters this week.
Title: Scraping By
Fandom: The Walking Dead
Rating: M
Disclaimer: All rights for The Walking Dead go to Robert Kirkman and AMC. This story takes place strictly in the TV show 'verse.
Chapter 7: Cab Confessions
Whitney pulled her hands up inside the sleeves of her hoodie and shifted on the floor of the truck cab. Zeke sprawled across her shins and she could feel Daryl's exhausted breath against her temple. He'd been asleep since they pulled off the road for the night and Whitney was a touch jealous that he was out as fast as he was.
She watched him sleep for a few minutes, taking in his relaxed features and the easy rise and fall of his chest. She counted his breaths and waited for sleep to come-the throb of her knee kept her awake.
Even after an extra codeine with dinner (the last of the deer jerky).
Unable to sleep, Whitney started reciting the section of the physician's desk reference dedicated to anti-depressants. She ended up mumbling out loud and got to Lexapro before Daryl groaned and swatted at the back of her head.
"Jesus wept, woman, would you shut the fuck up and lemme sleep?"
She cringed, genuinely feeling bad about waking him. "Sorry," she said. "Can't sleep."
He shifted on the bench seat to get a better look at her. "So you thought you'd share the wealth or somethin'?"
Whitney opened her mouth to retort but was cut off when Zeke turned on his side and shoved a paw at her face-all the while groaning in irritation at the noise they were making. She sputtered and slapped a hand out to push him away and Daryl didn't hold back the laugh that got caught in his throat. Her face was just too funny not to laugh about.
She rolled her eyes at him. "Oh, hush."
Daryl kept watching her as she fidgeted and finally decided that he wouldn't be falling back to sleep any time soon. "Ain't you wired to function with less sleep, bein' a nurse and all?" he asked.
"I was a nurse."
"Well, it ain't like the current situation offers up any fuckin' vacation time, darlin'."
She thought this over and tried to get more comfortable on the floor of the truck. Daryl saw her shifting and sighed.
"God dammit," he slid back as far as he could on the bench seat and held one arm up. "Get up here. Yer tiny and the seat's big. We can share."
Whitney cast him a skeptical look for all of four seconds and gave in. "Fine. No funny stuff, mister."
Daryl scoffed lightly but kept his comments to himself. He was grateful for the waning moonlight as it obscured the ridiculous blush that heated his cheeks when she settled her head in the crook of his arm and pulled his free hand over her waist. For the first time in his life, Daryl felt like he needed to fill the silence with something to avoid the foreign feeling that was churning in his gut. He wracked his mind for something to say.
Zeke let out a happy whine and spread out on the floor of the truck cab as much as any dog could. Daryl could see the light tan spots above his eyes in the dark-fitting the dog with the illusion of open eyes.
Strangely enough, a random fact popped in Daryl's head. "Did'ja know they called dogs with markings like the ones Zeke's got 'four-eyed?'" he asked.
"The eyebrow dots?"
Daryl made an affirmative-sounding grunt and Whitney let out a surprised puff of air.
"Huh. I did not know that."
"Mm-hmm. There was a relief cook I knew who said they were the guardians 'a Hell."
"Kinda fittin' considering how he found me," Whitney stared at the skin exposed by the v-neck of his shirt and focused on his heartbeat. "What's the worst thing y'all had to make for someone in the kitchen?" she asked.
Daryl thought it over for a bit and felt her get a little heavier on his arm. She was starting to relax into the sensation of falling asleep, so he kept his voice low.
"Haggis," he said. "It ain't right, boilin' meat like that."
She made a face and shifted her forehead to rest on his breastbone. "The sheep's stomach wasn't the problem with it?" she asked.
Whitney's voice had taken on a dreamy quality to it as the warmth of Daryl's body seeped into her aching limbs and relaxed her. Daryl, more than a little surprised that she moved so close to him, completely forgot what they were talking about.
"I like haggis," she mumbled.
"Heathen," Daryl admonished. He found himself pressing his nose into the part of her hair and tried not to read too much into the action. He was tired, she was warm, and it had been quite some time since he'd been able to think back to the simpler time of work at the country club.
The pair of them dozed off listening to the Doberman mutt snore.
Chapter 6: Pack It In | Chapter 8: Gossip
Title: Scraping By
Fandom: The Walking Dead
Rating: M
Disclaimer: All rights for The Walking Dead go to Robert Kirkman and AMC. This story takes place strictly in the TV show 'verse.
Chapter 7: Cab Confessions
Whitney pulled her hands up inside the sleeves of her hoodie and shifted on the floor of the truck cab. Zeke sprawled across her shins and she could feel Daryl's exhausted breath against her temple. He'd been asleep since they pulled off the road for the night and Whitney was a touch jealous that he was out as fast as he was.
She watched him sleep for a few minutes, taking in his relaxed features and the easy rise and fall of his chest. She counted his breaths and waited for sleep to come-the throb of her knee kept her awake.
Even after an extra codeine with dinner (the last of the deer jerky).
Unable to sleep, Whitney started reciting the section of the physician's desk reference dedicated to anti-depressants. She ended up mumbling out loud and got to Lexapro before Daryl groaned and swatted at the back of her head.
"Jesus wept, woman, would you shut the fuck up and lemme sleep?"
She cringed, genuinely feeling bad about waking him. "Sorry," she said. "Can't sleep."
He shifted on the bench seat to get a better look at her. "So you thought you'd share the wealth or somethin'?"
Whitney opened her mouth to retort but was cut off when Zeke turned on his side and shoved a paw at her face-all the while groaning in irritation at the noise they were making. She sputtered and slapped a hand out to push him away and Daryl didn't hold back the laugh that got caught in his throat. Her face was just too funny not to laugh about.
She rolled her eyes at him. "Oh, hush."
Daryl kept watching her as she fidgeted and finally decided that he wouldn't be falling back to sleep any time soon. "Ain't you wired to function with less sleep, bein' a nurse and all?" he asked.
"I was a nurse."
"Well, it ain't like the current situation offers up any fuckin' vacation time, darlin'."
She thought this over and tried to get more comfortable on the floor of the truck. Daryl saw her shifting and sighed.
"God dammit," he slid back as far as he could on the bench seat and held one arm up. "Get up here. Yer tiny and the seat's big. We can share."
Whitney cast him a skeptical look for all of four seconds and gave in. "Fine. No funny stuff, mister."
Daryl scoffed lightly but kept his comments to himself. He was grateful for the waning moonlight as it obscured the ridiculous blush that heated his cheeks when she settled her head in the crook of his arm and pulled his free hand over her waist. For the first time in his life, Daryl felt like he needed to fill the silence with something to avoid the foreign feeling that was churning in his gut. He wracked his mind for something to say.
Zeke let out a happy whine and spread out on the floor of the truck cab as much as any dog could. Daryl could see the light tan spots above his eyes in the dark-fitting the dog with the illusion of open eyes.
Strangely enough, a random fact popped in Daryl's head. "Did'ja know they called dogs with markings like the ones Zeke's got 'four-eyed?'" he asked.
"The eyebrow dots?"
Daryl made an affirmative-sounding grunt and Whitney let out a surprised puff of air.
"Huh. I did not know that."
"Mm-hmm. There was a relief cook I knew who said they were the guardians 'a Hell."
"Kinda fittin' considering how he found me," Whitney stared at the skin exposed by the v-neck of his shirt and focused on his heartbeat. "What's the worst thing y'all had to make for someone in the kitchen?" she asked.
Daryl thought it over for a bit and felt her get a little heavier on his arm. She was starting to relax into the sensation of falling asleep, so he kept his voice low.
"Haggis," he said. "It ain't right, boilin' meat like that."
She made a face and shifted her forehead to rest on his breastbone. "The sheep's stomach wasn't the problem with it?" she asked.
Whitney's voice had taken on a dreamy quality to it as the warmth of Daryl's body seeped into her aching limbs and relaxed her. Daryl, more than a little surprised that she moved so close to him, completely forgot what they were talking about.
"I like haggis," she mumbled.
"Heathen," Daryl admonished. He found himself pressing his nose into the part of her hair and tried not to read too much into the action. He was tired, she was warm, and it had been quite some time since he'd been able to think back to the simpler time of work at the country club.
The pair of them dozed off listening to the Doberman mutt snore.
Chapter 6: Pack It In | Chapter 8: Gossip